


Simple Troubles

by Writerboy (Hobbitrocious)



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Age Play, Bed-Wetting, Community: shkinkmeme, Daddy/Boy Dynamics, Dom/sub, Loss of Control, M/M, Omorashi, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitrocious/pseuds/Writerboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson and Holmes like to roleplay. Watson is Daddy.<br/>Sometimes, Watson enjoys making Holmes drink lots of water and then comforting him after he 'accidentally' wets the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written October 2010 as a fill for an SHkinkmeme prompt: [link](http://community.livejournal.com/shkinkmeme/6327.html?thread=12797623#t12797623)

Watson held a cup to Holmes' lips. The doctor supported the other man's shoulders with one arm, holding him close while they both sat on the bed. Holmes, swathed in a nightshirt that was far too large for his skinny body, had his shining, brown eyes locked on Watson's as Watson helped him down glass after glass of water.

The pitcher on the nightstand was almost empty. There was maybe one more cup's worth left. Holmes still sipped at the second to last cupfull, slowly adding to the mass of liquid already sloshing in his painfully full stomach.

Holmes managed to choke down the last of it and drain the glass, and Watson smiled warmly. With his free hand, Watson set it on the nightstand and began to pour the final helping. 

He brought it to Holmes' mouth, which did not open for him. Holmes stared up at him, stricken.

"I can't," Holmes said breathlessly. There was little room inside him for his lungs to expand. "I've had too much." He tried to turn his head away.

Watson gently brought him back to the glass. He insisted, "I'm proud of you, that you finished as much as you did, but you do need to drink it all. Come now, dear..." He tilted it up. Holmes had no choice but to swallow, lest everything run down his chin and soak his clean, white nightshirt. It made him feel sick, attempting to fit so much into his normally empty belly, but Watson pulled the glass back every so often and paced him. The water was almost gone, and Holmes managed to keep it all down. Only just barely.

Watson pulled the half-empty glass down to give Holmes a short rest. Holmes breathed in short, rough pants, barely able to take in enough air past the pressure of all the water.

"Daddy, please?" Holmes whined. "May I stop?"

He felt a fond pat on the top of his head as Watson told him, "There's not much more to go. Just give yourself a moment; I know you can fit it." He bent down to kiss Holmes' forehead. Holmes' skin was feverish and damp with the strain, as though he drank so much that it was ready to seep out his pores.

When he looked ready to Watson, the glass tipped up once again. Holmes struggled with the last few sips, taking them slowly as ever. The sound of the empty glass settling on wood next to the pitcher was too good to be true, and Holmes nearly wept in his relief.

"Am I finished, Daddy?" He had to be sure. After all the strain and lack of oxygen, things were a little fuzzy. He would hate to find he was mistaken by way of delirium.

Watson squeezed his shoulders and said softly, "Yes, you finished it all. You did wonderfully, Holmes."

Exhausted, Holmes let his eyes drift shut and concentrated on anything he felt would deter a mouthful of bile. He felt Watson manoeuvre him on the bed so that he rested against a mound of pillows, seated much as he was in Watson's arms. He remained mostly upright, a mercy that allowed gravity to keep the water down, inside Holmes.

Watson propped up Holmes' feet, tangled in the end of the long nightshirt, atop a single pillow so they would be elevated and hopefully not develop the light hydropsy that so much fluid could bring on.

The blankets were pulled up to Holmes' chest and tucked loosely around him, and the drapes drawn.

With Holmes officially put down for his nap, Watson left to attend to his day and to do some reading.

* * *

Hours later, Holmes was supposed to still be napping but was finally pulled out of sleep by the hustle and bustle outside. Daddy - Watson - would be cross if Holmes left the room before "naptime" was over, so Holmes slid lower on the pillows and closed his eyes.

Not after long, he woke with an annoying pressure behind his cock. It was easy enough to ignore for a while, until it grew to more of an insistent urge. Holmes turned over, onto his side, and it abated a little. Enough that he could rest again for a few minutes, anyway, before he felt the need to turn onto his other side. 

In a good ten minutes, he moved on from periodic rolling to outright tossing and turning. 

What the devil was taking Watson so long, Holmes did not know. He was sure it was past the time when Daddy was supposed to come in and give Holmes permission to go and use the can. The simple cloth diaper Watson wrapped around Holmes' bottom was certainly never meant to hold anything.

Holmes rolled onto his back and drew up his knees to give the muscles in his abdomen some slack. That only worked for another five or ten minutes before Holmes had to physically grab hold of himself to try and stem the inevitable flow. The buildup was so great in his bladder, everything from that morning felt like it entered all at once. Holmes jiggled his legs in an effort to distract himself. His lower plumbing was so full, so heated, and the pressure was to such a point that he was even getting horny. Pressure in his cock, on his insides, encroaching on his bowels as far back as his prostate. Every sweet spot was hit. It was driving him mad.

He clenched his muscles hard as soon as the first drops escaped. Something leaked, though at this point he could not be sure what. It could very well have been precum, but Holmes was not willing to bet on it. With both hands pressed painfully into his tingling cock, avoiding the now heavy sac, Holmes squirmed and groaned, mentally cursing Watson for forgetting him. Or if this was a game of wits, to see how long Holmes would last before running to the pot without Watson's consent, Holmes had no intention of leaving the bed.

Watson had to come through the door any second now, he _had_ to.

Holmes sat up so he could watch the door, then let out a startled cry. The movement was accompanied by an unmistakable spurt, and liquid heat dripped around the head of his member. There was a spot of wetness under his hands, the size of a large coin.

Desperate for Watson to relieve him, Holmes tried to shout for him. With state his body was in, it felt to Holmes as though a deep enough breath might force more out of his bladder. The shout was rather a petulant mewl, hardly loud enough to be heard into the next room. "Daddy?" Holmes whimpered and tried again, "Dad-eeeeeeeeeeee?"

The carefully placed pillows were in disarray with all of Holmes' moving about, and the covers kicked clear off the bed. Holmes' arousal blindsided him as his need to urinate reached a peak, his bladder about to breach full capacity and pressing out on all sides hard enough to cause cramps. A tinny buzzing filled his head as the tension overwhelmed him, and, before he knew it, one enormous gush flooded across his crotch and into his hands.

It was the best relief possible, everything expelled at once, almost a guiltily good sensation. The first powerful rush through his penis as he lost control triggered his orgasm behind it and, by the time he had the stream under control, Holmes sat sobbing and humiliated in the middle of his bed. 

Shakily, he lifted his hands away from the drenched fabric between his legs. He felt disgusting, dirty, and helpless. If he were to clean it all up, he would not know where to begin. It was an upsetting feeling. Knowing Watson was likely to stumble upon the scene at any moment didn't help, either.

He was sure Watson meant to come wake him before it came to this. Frozen in shock, the most Holmes could do was bite his sleeves to tug them back before too much of the urine dripping from his hands ran down and stained them yellow. One sleeve was still between his teeth when the door finally did open.

Watson stepped through and took in the sight of a frazzled, soiled Holmes sobbing and quivering atop his own mess. Upon seeing Watson, Holmes sobbed so hard it began to sound like hiccups. Hopelessly embarrassed already, Holmes let go and allowed what was left inside of him to spill out. Watson watched the puddle on the sheets spread.

"I... I'm sorry... Daddy!" Holmes stammered in a pitiful squeak. Tears ran from his eyes and made him feel wet all over. 

Watson went swiftly to the bedside and pulled Holmes to his bosom, and the hiccups died down to ragged gasps of air. He had Holmes in a firm hold, rocked him gently side to side and tutted soothing reassurances in his ear. After a long while, Holmes calmed down and Watson drew back to arms' length.

"I'm sorry," Holmes repeated.

"Shhhh," 

Holmes' lip quivered, and Watson touched a thumb to it tenderly. 

 

Between the two of them, the bedding was stripped and Holmes undressed. Watson snuck it all into a dark corner of the washroom to be dealt with later, before Mrs. Hudson could find it, while Holmes waited for him by the tub upstairs. Watson returned and set up a bath for Holmes, steadily murmuring more reassurances all the while.

He took Holmes' arm and helped him step into the steamy, soapy water. Holmes continued to cry quietly as Watson scrubbed at him with the softest washcloth they owned.

"My darling boy," Watson said matter-of-factly whilst rubbing at the salty tracks beneath Holmes' eyes, "It's not your fault. None of this would have happened had I checked in on you sooner, but you were a good boy and stayed put. You are a good boy, Holmes." He finished with a kiss to Holmes' cheek and drained the bath.

Wrapped in multiple fluffy towels and mostly dry, thankfully clean and again exhausted after all the emotion, Holmes was ready to nod off. Watson eased him onto the floor to secure a fresh linen around his groin before dressing him in a clean nightshirt. It was obvious Holmes needed a real rest.

"Daddy?" Holmes asked shyly once he was dressed. "I want to sleep with you."

Watson hugged him fiercely, at which Holmes hugged back, and led the detective to his bed for a much needed cuddle. With a knowing smile on his face, Watson watched over the other man as he fell asleep.

Tomorrow, his boy would forgive him.


End file.
